Rochelle Booker of Brandywine Counseling, on one of her outreach rounds in Wilmington, hugs a prostitute after listening to her describe a life of drug addiction. / The News Journal/WILLIAM BRETZGER

Rochelle Booker of Brandywine Counseling gives supplies such as condoms and toiletries on a November night to a woman who said she occasionally prostitutes herself for drugs in the Riverside section of Wilmington. / The News Journal/WILLIAM BRETZGER

Booker listens to a woman's story and gives her respite from the December cold in the agency's van. / The News Journal/WILLIAM BRETZGER

Booker prays at her desk at Brandywine Counseling before leaving on her rounds, trying to befriend and help prostitutes. / The News Journal/WILLIAM BRETZGER

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WILMINGTON — Ashley, a slim 25-year-old with long, dark hair that curls at the end, lingers on the corner of Fourth and Harrison streets.

She's dressed in a hooded winter coat, sneakers and tight blue jeans. She's looking for men with money.

The mother of two young boys will stay out until daybreak even as the temperature dips below freezing to get enough money to buy heroin and crack. She has been addicted to drugs for five years and turned to the streets two years ago, hooking up with as many as six johns a night.

"I didn't think I'd ever do this -- I used to hate being touched by men and I didn't want them to touch me," she says. "The only reason I do it is to get high."

Drug addiction is only one stop on the path to prostitution. Abuse, poverty, and the need for money to support a child, pay for a place to sleep or buy food contribute to a cycle of risky behavior.

"We need to find out how many are the victims of sexual violence, how many need drug treatment and how many rely on sex work because they can't find other employment," said Basha Silverman, prevention program director at Brandywine Counseling & Community Services Inc. Her agency is one of a coalition -- also led by researchers from the University of Delaware and backed by the local Coalition for a Healthier Community -- gathering prostitutes' stories.

Rochelle Booker, an outreach worker for Brandywine Counseling, spends several nights a month driving the city's most dangerous, drug-infested neighborhoods looking for prostitutes. Her goal is to forge friendships with them -- the first step, she said, to finding out why they sell their bodies.

It's not easy to gain their trust.

"When you're on the streets, dealing with these women, you may not have time to get information from them," Booker said. "They're looking for the next john."

It's not easy to determine prostitutes' numbers in Delaware because there are few arrests. FBI statistics show the state averaged about 153 arrests a year from 2001 to 2007. The numbers are low because it is not easy to charge someone with prostitution, said state police Sgt. Paul G. Shavack. He said they have to be caught in the act or consenting to it. Instead, many are charged with other offenses that can be more easily proved, such as loitering or drug use.

But when the problem spikes, police conduct sweeps that sometimes last for days and also target johns.

But then, as soon as prostitutes feel the heat is off, they return. Usually, other types of crime follow.

"It's not perceived as a crime of violence, but it really brings much, much more to our communities," said Trinidad Navarro, the newly elected New Castle County sheriff and former senior corporal of county police. "It brings drugs, property crimes, ultimately more violent crimes. ... So there's all kinds of other social issues surrounding prostitution."

Two years ago, a Bear man was arrested for sexually assaulting nearly 20 women, mostly drug addicts or prostitutes. After picking up the women along U.S. 13 and U.S. 40, he raped many of them at knifepoint and then dropped them off along a road or trails by the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal.

To help these women, the coalition believes, it's essential to learn more about them. Along with the grant money for the research, the federal Office of Women's Health is offering up to $2 million to groups that design strategies to help prostitutes find work that does not expose them to the risk of rape, violence and sexually transmitted diseases.

Having a program that diverts women from prostitution -- by housing them, feeding them or breaking their drug addiction -- does not guarantee that prostitutes such as Ashley will stop.

The few studies evaluating diversion programs have not clearly demonstrated their effectiveness, said Stéphanie Wahab, an associate professor in the school of social work at Portland State University.

A diversion program in Salt Lake City that was part of Wahab's research found that some women stopped while they were involved in the program, but others continued, even after they were offered the resources and support needed to address their problems.

"Essentially, women were still working while they were still in the program," Wahab said.

It's a fact that local stakeholders acknowledge.

"Are we going to eradicate prostitution 100 percent? Probably not," Silverman said. "I don't think we are going to create a magic bullet or pill to eradicate prostitution and that's not what we're claiming to do. But I think we're going to be able to reduce the reliance on sex work."

Busy nights

Staying up as late as 5 a.m. and clutching a paper cup of decaffeinated coffee, Booker drives a van into Wilmington's prostitution hot spots. Thursday and Friday nights are busiest, she said, because that is when most johns cash their paychecks.

Booker scans both directions as her van rolls slowly through intersections and down alleys. When a prostitute is spotted -- sometimes at car washes or behind convenience stores -- Booker hits the brakes. Known to many streetwalkers, she motions them over and hands them "goodie bags" filled with deodorant, perfume, toothbrushes and toothpaste.

She also offers them cotton gloves and scarves, underwear, condoms and feminine wipes. She sometimes hands them money.

A former drug addict, Booker also sold her body for sex when she was hooked on cocaine.

"I let them know who I am, where I am from, the services we offer and that if they need help they can give me a call," she said. "I keep preaching to them that there's a better life and a better way. If we can get them the help to support themselves, they'll stop turning tricks."

Booker says a few women have stopped prostituting themselves because of her efforts.

In her office, she keeps files on about 40 prostitutes. A few, even after several meetings, are reluctant to reveal personal information.

She has known three who died during her seven years as an outreach worker. AIDS took the life of one, another was struck by a car and a third was killed by a john.

Booker is convinced that every one of the prostitutes she encounters would get off the streets if her social problems were fixed.

Among them is Crys, the mother of a 16-year-old son and a 12-year-old daughter, who was bundled up on a recent night as she walked along Governor Printz Boulevard, pinching a cigarette between two fingers. Addicted to crack and heroin, Crys, 44, sells her body to four or more johns each night. Like Ashley, she knows that she needs to beat her habit to be able to stay home with her kids -- and away from the men on the streets.

"It's always something with these guys," she said. "Some of them have the attitudes. It gets on my nerves. They all want different things. Everybody's different. Everybody's got a vice."

The prostitutes aren't hard to spot as they slowly pace back and forth in drug-infested neighborhoods. When they see a man, they walk toward him and smile. When a car drives by, they'll wave, hoping it's a trick.

Ashley has never been arrested for prostitution and makes sure she gets paid upfront. She has three regular clients, one who pays $300 per act. She's willing to accept as little as $20, though, because she pays $5 for a bag of heroin and gets high "every three hours."

"When I see men," she said, "I see money."

Not all prostitutes in the Wilmington area are addicted to drugs, said Chrysanthi Leon, an assistant professor of sociology and criminal justice at the University of Delaware, who will lead the study. The research is funded through a $100,000 grant from the Office of Women's Health.

"If we knew what the problems were, we would've jumped right in and began providing the services that are needed," she said. "But we have to accept the opportunity we've gotten because of the federal grant. We're missing the most deep-seated causes on why this is happening and now we'll be able to get a little more in-depth on why they're in prostitution that could pay off down the road."

Leon said she is aware that social workers and researchers have yet to identify a clear-cut solution, but defended the coalition's work by pointing to the way data collection has helped in other areas. One example is a study published in a 2005 issue of the journal Psychiatric Services that collected data on criminals with mental-health problems and designed specific counseling programs to meet their needs. After counseling, there was a noticeable drop in the number of crimes committed by the same offenders.

"We're not going to be able to solve the entire prostitution problem, but ultimately you have to give them that choice," Leon said.

Dangerous places

Booker focuses her interventions on certain parts of Wilmington and several points along Del. 9 near New Castle.

Sometimes, she leaves the van and places goodie bags in spots where she suspects a sexual encounter will occur: behind gas stations, near trees, in car wash bays and under bridges.

"I go to some areas where you have to be real careful because it can become dangerous at any given time," she said.

Booker recently saw a couple of prostitutes she recognized walking down Governor Printz Boulevard. Once they saw her van, they turned and cut through a side street to avoid notice.

Booker told her driver, Jerry Williams, to catch them. She said she had been told that Charlene, one of the prostitutes, was in recovery from drug addiction.

As the van slowed beside them, Booker rolled down her window, leaned out and shouted, "Wattup, wattup! What's up, girlfriends! What you been doin' all day?!"

"Nothing," they both said sheepishly.

"I know you're smoking something," Booker said as she looked at Charlene.

The admonishment lasted just a second.

"You take a couple of these, OK?" Booker said. "Take these bags. You want some gloves? I can get you some gloves."

"Thank you, Rochelle," Charlene said.

As the women walked off, Booker stared through her side mirror, her eyes welling with tears. As Jerry started to drive away, she covered her eyes with her hands.

"Charlene, I've known her for four years and the last time I seen her she was doing all right," she said, crying. "She was in treatment. She was clean. She was working cleaning offices at night."

"Everyone judges them," she said. "Drugs have taken over their lives and they have no hope and they have no life and any dreams or self-esteem that they have is all shot. But deep down inside, all those women are some good women. They're somebody's mother, somebody's daughter, somebody's wife. ... I'm trying to help somebody."

Abused as child

When Booker spotted Ashley, she stopped her van, got out and put her arms around Ashley's neck. She told her how much she loved her and gave Ashley a goodie bag and $20.

"Thank you," Ashley said softly.

Ashley was sexually abused as a child. Her mother was a prostitute and a drug addict. She married at age 16, after becoming pregnant. Her husband dealt cocaine and she started sneaking hits, not knowing it was mixed with heroin.

"That's how I got addicted," she said.

She doesn't blame her childhood for her addiction.

"We did this to ourselves, regardless of how bad our life is," she said. "I'm out here getting high. I don't blame people. I blame myself. I'm doing this to myself."

Sitting in Rochelle's van on the corner of Fourth and Harrison streets, Ashley gets a brief respite from the cold. She's a mother of two boys, 8 and 3, but she's ashamed to see or speak to them because of her addiction.

"I was a good mom," she said. "I used to sing to my kids and read them books. ... I miss my kids."

Looking through the van's front window, she recalls times when she thought about getting clean so she could visit her children again.

"Once in a while, I'll have a real good day when I feel better and I'll sit there and think I really want to change and it's like everything is cool, but then you start feeling sick and then you go right back to the heroin to get away from feeling sick," she said.